


this, and my heart beside

by ikeracity



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, M/M, Mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-03 21:13:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16333580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ikeracity/pseuds/ikeracity
Summary: Pregnant out of wedlock, Charles is quietly married away to Lord Lehnsherr in order to avoid public scandal. Though their relationship starts off awkward and rocky, Charles and Erik gradually realize there's more to each other than meet the eye. But whatever happiness they find is soon overshadowed by the machinations of Charles's stepfather, Lord Marko, and by Erik's own plot against the king. Under the looming threat of open civil war, Charles and Erik must find a way to stay together--or surrender to the idea that they would be better off apart.Inspired by The Magic of Ordinary Days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm uploading all the parts I have posted on tumblr for now, and hopefully I'll have more to add soon. Whoever's still reading this, thanks for your patience! 
> 
> Title from Emily Dickinson's "It's All I Have To Bring Today."

Erik had only just leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes for a handful of minutes when a knock came at the door. Frowning, he straightened and tried to rub the tiredness out of his eyes. “Yes?”

Janos cracked the door open. “Lord Xavier has arrived, sir.”

“Already?” A glance at the clock on his desk confirmed that it was just past noon. Xavier wasn’t expected for another three hours yet. “He’s early.”

“Yes, sir. He’s been settled in the parlor downstairs. Shall I bring him up?”

Erik considered for a moment, then nodded. Better to get this over with sooner rather than later. Once introductions had been made, Xavier would be shown to his rooms to rest, and Erik could attend to other business.  

With a bow, Janos vanished. Erik stood from his desk and slid on his coat. The afternoon was almost too warm for layers, but he wanted to greet Xavier with the appropriate formality. Despite the sordid circumstances surrounding their rapid engagement, Xavier would not find hostility or disapproval here. That would hardly suit Erik’s purposes.

A knock on the door. Erik brushed a wrinkle out of his left sleeve and folded his hands behind his back. “Come in.”

Janos opened the door and bowed. “Lord Charles Xavier of Westchester, sir.”

At Erik’s nod, he stepped aside and out of sight. A moment later, a boy entered and, before Erik could get a good look at him, bowed very low.

“Rise,” Erik said.

Slowly, Xavier straightened. He was short, pale, and younger than Erik had expected. He knew Xavier was seven years his junior, but the boy before him hardly looked a day over twenty. He was lean and freckled, and his hair, messy and wind-tousled, only added to his boyish appearance. He wore dark trousers, riding boots, and a white linen shirt that fit him snugly enough that Erik could see that he hadn’t yet begun to show.

Behind him, Janos pulled the door shut. Xavier swallowed.

“So,” Erik said, “you’re Lady Sharon’s son.”

He didn’t miss the way Xavier’s mouth tightened, or the brief annoyance that flashed through his eyes. But when he spoke, his voice was soft and demure. “Yes, my lord,” he said, inclining his head.

“You are aware of your mother’s arrangement with me, I imagine?” Or rather, Kurt Marko’s arrangement—he was the one who had discreetly negotiated with Erik on Lady Sharon’s behalf.  

Xavier’s gaze remained politely lowered. “Yes, my lord.”

Erik studied him closely for a moment. With those blue eyes, that red mouth, and that young, guileless face, he was certainly beautiful. It was no wonder he’d attracted the attention of some red-blooded, reckless alpha who’d been too foolish to know better than to bed the omega son of the house. Who had it been? Erik wondered. From what Marko had said, the sire’s identity remained undiscovered.  

“I am Lord Lehnsherr,” he said finally, “but you may call me Erik. We are, after all, to be spouses.”

They would have to engage in the intimacy of first names, though they remained perfect strangers to each other. Otherwise, the legitimacy of their relationship might come into question. Few people knew about the truth of their arrangement, and Erik intended to keep it that way. So long as they kept up the appearance of a wedded couple, no one would pry.  

“If that is your will, my lord.”  

The bitterness in Charles’s voice was so slight that it might have been imagined. Whatever his true feelings, he was concealing them admirably. But if they were to coexist, if they were to help each other, Erik wanted Charles to understand very clearly where they stood.

“You resent me,” he said. “I understand that. Whatever your mistakes, you can’t have wanted this, being taken hundreds of miles from your home and married off to a stranger. But I hope you will learn to be comfortable here. You and the child will be properly cared for.” Erik paused, then added, “I don’t expect you to share my bed. We needn’t consummate the marriage either—there isn’t anyone here interested in checking.”

That, finally, made Charles look up. His eyes were wide and startled for a brief moment before he wrestled his emotions back under control. “Forgive me,” he said slowly, “but I very much doubt you intend to remain celibate until you die, or until I do.”  

Erik smiled faintly. “No, not celibate, but if I take my appetites elsewhere, I don’t think you’ll object. Neither will  _I_  object if you wish to take your own lovers. I only ask that you be discreet, and more careful than you’ve been.” He glanced down at Charles’s still-flat belly. “One bastard child in this house is quite enough.”

“And heirs?” Charles hadn’t lowered his eyes again. His gaze remained fixed to Erik’s, wary and assessing.

“As far as anyone knows, the child you’re carrying is ours. As long as its features aren’t too distinct, I doubt the charade will be discovered.”

Charles was silent for a moment, his expression brooding. Then he lifted his chin, eyes defiant. When he spoke again, all meek politeness was gone. “Why? Why take a bastard as your heir? Why agree to marry me in the first place and risk sullying the honor of your house?”

Erik blinked at him in surprise. He hadn’t expected to be interrogated. With the surprise came a certain relief though: he was glad to realize Charles wasn’t as reserved and docile as he’d first appeared. Erik found timidity infuriating.

“House Xavier is powerful,” he replied. “Your name and connections give me advantages I could not have gotten elsewhere.”

It was a reasonable response, and yet, Charles gave him a deeply skeptical look. “I wonder at your answer. It’s no great secret that you were courting Lady Emma, and House Frost is just as old and wealthy as House Xavier. If you had married the Duchess, you would have gained the same advantages without having to take on the burden of a shamed omega and another alpha’s child. So if I may, I would ask you again: why did you agree to this arrangement?”

For a moment, Erik was too taken aback to reply. This truly  _was_  an interrogation, one he was ill-prepared for. He’d expected the Xavier boy to be quiet, shy, too embarrassed about his circumstances to ask any questions. Clearly he’d assumed too much of Charles—or too little.

“Because,” Erik said finally. “Because Marko told me he had also entered into negotiations with Lord Stryker, and I know how Stryker would have treated you. I may not be a kind man, or a gentle one, but I will not be cruel. I can promise you that.”

Charles’s eyes widened. He seemed momentarily struck speechless.

Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. It was a small smile, wry and a touch too sharp to be entirely genial, but it was a smile nonetheless. “I think you’re wrong about that,” he said softly. “About being kind, I mean.”

Erik glanced away, slightly embarrassed. “It was what any decent alpha would have done.”

Charles didn’t dispute him, though it would have been easy to: obviously no other eligible alpha had stepped forward. Only Erik had, and only then because Stryker had expressed interest. Erik didn’t think that made him a good man, only a decent one.  

After a moment, he cleared his throat. “You had a long journey; you must be tired. I’ll have Janos show you to your rooms so you can rest. Dinner will be brought to you tonight.”

Charles dipped into a low bow. “Thank you, my lord.” He paused for a second before amending, “Thank you, Erik.”

It was strange to hear his name in the voice of a stranger. In the voice of his  _betrothed_.  

“If you need anything to be comfortable,” Erik said, “do not hesitate to ask. The household is at your disposal.”

Charles nodded and murmured, “Thank you,” again. Then he backed away to the door and opened it. Janos appeared immediately to guide him away. In a moment, they were gone.  

Alone again, Erik sat. On his desk lay a sheaf of business papers. Picking up the first page, he stared down at it, but it was impossible to make his eyes focus. After several fruitless minutes, he laid the letter down again and got up.

When he’d agreed to the engagement, he’d imagined marrying the Xavier boy and then shuffling him off to the side, leaving him to his own devices while Erik used the Xavier name to open doors, build influence, gather allies. But now, he thought of Charles’s sharp blue eyes, his sardonic smile, his stiff pride, and wondered if Charles would be quite so amenable to being quietly shoved aside.

Well, Erik supposed, he would soon find out.  


	2. Chapter 2

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said in the last five minutes, have you?”

Erik dragged his gaze away from the window. “Hm?”

“I thought not.” Kitty closed the ledger she was holding. “Perhaps we should continue tomorrow morning. It’s clear you’re not in the mood for business.”

Chagrined, Erik nodded. “My apologies. I seem to be distracted today.”

“It’s alright. The longer we take to come to an agreement, the more I get to enjoy your hospitality.” She leaned back in her chair, grinning. “I don’t visit you here in the north nearly often enough. Things move much slower in the south, you know. Appointments, deals…news.” Her grin widened. “Is there a reason you’ve been keeping your new husband from me?”

He’d figured she’d hear of it sooner or later. “I’ve hardly been keeping him from you,” he said mildly. “He’s not feeling well, so he’s resting.”

He had offered to introduce Charles to Lady Kitty, thinking Charles might jump at the chance to meet someone new, but Charles had declined. Ever since the wedding, he had shut himself up in his rooms, more like a ghost in the house than a guest. Days went by without Erik catching even a glimpse of him. He relied on the servants to inform him of his husband’s condition, which was, as Erik understood it, not well. 

Charles was not sick and he was not unhealthy, not according to the physician. But he was in poor spirits. He would not say as much, not to Erik, but it was plain enough to anyone who bothered to look.

He was homesick, Erik thought. Or perhaps longing for different company, someone he had left behind.

Erik had not asked about the sire. It was not his business to know, and besides, it hardly mattered. Erik was the father of the child. That was the beginning and the end of it.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if the root of Charles’s unhappiness was because he had been in love. A foolish thing, but Charles was young. He might have mistaken some alpha’s lustful attention for affection. Perhaps he secretly hoped, even now, that his lover would find him and ferry him away to someplace remote and unknown, where they would never be found.

“Poor thing,” Kitty said, frowning. “Pregnancy isn’t easy, or so I’ve heard. But oh!” Her expression brightened. “I should congratulate you! How does it feel, knowing you’ll soon be a father?”

“Surreal,” Erik replied honestly. He still hadn’t quite wrapped his mind around the idea.

“Well,” Kitty said, “if you need any help with the babe, I can offer some advice. I was a governess once, you will recall.”

He’d forgotten. She had been a lady for as long as Erik had known her, but before she’d married Lord Piotr, she had been a commoner. Her formerly wealthy mercantile family had fallen on hard times, and she had spent a few years working as a governess before she and Piotr had met. That was long enough now that most people overlooked her background entirely, though the more snobbish nobles never quite forgot. 

“I may have to call on your expertise at some point,” Erik said. “This is new to me, of course, and to Charles as well.”

“Oh I’ll happily visit you anytime. Perhaps I’ll bring Piotr next time—it’s been far too long since he’s been up to see you.”

“Indeed.”

They spoke idly for another few minutes before separating for dinner. These last few evenings, Erik had taken his meals with Kitty, but tonight he had the urge to see Charles. Though Charles had never invited Erik to call on him, he had never given Erik cause to feel unwelcome either. A brief visit wouldn’t be too intrusive, Erik thought.

Charles’s rooms were only a short distance from Erik’s. Stopping in front of the door, Erik swung the knocker against it once, then again.

It was a full minute before the door cracked open. Charles stared out at Erik in surprise. “My lord?”

He seemed even paler now than when he’d first arrived. How long had it been since he’d been outside? Erik wondered. Too long perhaps. 

“I wanted to check on you,” he said.

Charles continued to stare at him for a moment. Then he seemed to remember himself and stepped back, opening the door further. “Please, come in.”

The sitting room was cold and dark, save for a couple of lamps turned down low. The fire in the hearth had burned itself out.

“I was in bed,” Charles said by way of explanation. “And I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“It’s early for bed.”

“I was tired.”

When he started to bend to stir the fire back to life, Erik reached out to take the poker from him. “Let me.”

Charles’s mouth flattened into a sharp frown. “I’m hardly an invalid.”

“I thought—”

“I’m fine.”

Erik watched in silence as Charles built the fire back up. He was just starting to show, his belly a gentle swell under his shirt, but he was right: he was hardly incapacitated. Faintly embarrassed, Erik moved away and glanced around the rest of the room.

There wasn’t much evidence of Charles’s presence here, though he’d been living here two months already. None of the furniture had been rearranged, no cups or trays lingered on the tables, none of the windows were open. Not even the bookcase looked as if it had been touched, which surprised Erik a little.

“I’m sorry I have no refreshments to offer you,” Charles said finally. “I can ring for something.”

“No, I don’t mean to stay long.”

“Oh.” Charles set the poker back into its cradle by the hearth. “Of course.”

His voice was so flat it was impossible to glean anything from it. His expression was full of the same careful blankness.

Erik searched for something to say. Part of him wanted to ask after Charles’s health, but he wasn’t sure if such a question would be well-received. Eventually, he asked, “Are you comfortable?”

“Yes.”

“Is there anything more you need? Some sort of entertainment perhaps? Or—”

Charles shook his head. “No, my lord.”

“Erik.”

Charles accepted the correction with a quick bow of his head but said nothing more.

Erik glanced at the bookcase. “Have you found anything to your liking? Lord Marko mentioned that you liked to read.”

Unexpectedly, Charles’s expression twisted. His words came out as practically a sneer. “He said that, did he?” At Erik’s raised eyebrow, Charles averted his eyes. “What else did he say about me?”

“Nothing important.”

“No, tell me.” Charles’s eyes cut back to Erik’s. “Tell me what he said to sell me to you.”

 _Sell me to you_. As if Charles were a slave. A thing to be possessed.

Though Erik supposed, with a twist of distaste, that Charles wasn’t wrong. Marko _had_ been trying to sell Charles, in a way. He’d tried to make the boy sound as appealing as possible so that Erik would make an offer, and in the end, he’d succeeded.

Erik said quietly, “He told me you liked to read. He said you had a sweet, quiet manner.” After a pause, he admitted, “Mostly he told me how beautiful you were.”

Charles snorted. “Of course he did. And that won you over, did it?”

Erik met Charles’s bitter gaze without flinching. “I told you my reasons for agreeing to this arrangement. I didn’t do it because I wanted you for myself.”

Charles stared hard at him for another long few seconds. Then the fight seemed to leave him all at once. Shoulders slumping, he said, “I’m sorry. I know you took me in out of kindness, nothing more. I don’t mean to be…difficult.”

“It’s alright. It’s a difficult situation.”

Charles’s smile was empty of humor. “Difficult. Yes, that’s one way to describe it.”

They stood in silence for a minute. Finally, Erik bowed. “Well. I don’t mean to keep you from your dinner. I’ll take my leave.”

He was halfway to the door when Charles said, “Wait.” 

Erik turned.

Charles hesitated. Then, with some awkwardness, he said, “It’s rather strange that we haven’t shared a meal since the wedding, isn’t it? People might talk.”

Would they? Perhaps. Erik thought it far more likely that people would talk about the fact that they were obviously living apart, each sequestered in his own rooms. It was difficult to conceive a child when alpha and omega slept in different beds and kept to separate schedules. He knew the servants had noticed.

Even so, he had given Charles his own suite of rooms because he had wanted to make the adjustment easier. Bad enough that Charles had been forced to uproot his life and move to this strange place. He would have been even unhappier, Erik thought, if he’d had to share Erik’s rooms, his space.

There was no denying that such an arrangement would raise questions though. Especially when the child was born, inevitably weeks early.

“You’re right,” Erik said. “I think it would be wise for us to spend more time together. Dispel the rumors before they begin in earnest. But,” he added after a moment of thought, “nothing more than you’re comfortable with.”  

Charles studied him for a moment, then dipped his head in assent. “Please, sit. I’ll ring for dinner.”

As Charles went for the bell, Erik settled on one of the couches. His gaze traced over the crackling fire, the empty mantel, the untouched bookcase. Would this place ever be home to Charles? he wondered. Or would it only ever be a cage?

When a servant arrived at the door, Charles went to speak to her lowly. Then, coming back over to Erik, he said, “Dinner is on its way. I told her to hurry.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” Erik found his eyes lingering, unexpectedly, on the red curve of Charles’s mouth.

He looked away quickly, face heating. _Don’t,_ he told himself. _Don’t_.


	3. Chapter 3

Her name was Moira. She arrived at the estate late in the year, accompanying Lady Munroe, who had been passing through the country. A fierce storm had sent them fleeing for shelter at Ironhold, where Erik had settled them all in guest rooms and ordered the winter stores to be open for Lady Munroe and her retinue. Snow obscured the roads and blanketed the land in thick, uneven blankets. There would be no further travel until the days warmed at least a little, and the roads could be cleared. 

Moira was the captain of Lady Munroe’s guard escort, a short but sturdy woman with keen eyes and a steady manner. Erik didn’t know much about her except that she seemed competent and she kept her guards in line, making sure they caused no trouble in Erik’s household. He respected her for that. He could not, however, like her.

He knew about her visits to Charles’s rooms. He had seen the two of them walking together in the covered gardens and laughing softly at one another’s jokes, heads bent close together. Once, when he had knocked on Charles’s door to invite him to share dinner, as they did nearly every evening these days, Moira had answered instead.

“My lord,” she had said, bowing her head in deference.

She had not even had the good grace to seem self-conscious about her presence in Charles’s rooms. Opening the door more widely, she had invited him in. _Invited him in!_ As if they were her rooms as well as Charles’s, as if she had the right!

Annoyed and angry, Erik had left without even leaving a message for Charles. Let him dine with his lover, if he treasured her so much. For weeks Erik had so carefully cultivated a friendship with Charles, sharing meals with him and playing chess and discussing philosophy and literature and all manner of interests. And here was Moira, who had been here only two weeks, and already she had captured Charles’s attention more thoroughly than Erik ever had.

In his calmer moments, when he could bring himself to be rational about the situation, he felt rather stupid about his irritation. Had he not told Charles on that first day that he was free to take lovers as he wished? Had they not agreed that this was a match of convenience, not of love or attraction, and that as such, neither of them ought to be bound by traditional views of fidelity between spouses?

He had no right, then, to be _jealous_. And yet he was.

But there was nothing he could do. Nothing he _should_ do. Had he not prayed that Charles would find happiness here?

 _But you thought he might find happiness in your arms,_ he thought to himself with a certain black humor. _Not in another’s._

He ought to have been more specific in his prayers.

His only consolation was that Moira would not stay here forever. He hoped this cold snap was not a sign of winter come early. It might still thaw and allow Lady Munroe’s party to continue their journey south before winter set in in earnest. And even if it didn’t, Lady Munroe would still be obliged to leave eventually, once the roads were passable. She and her guard captain would move on, sooner or later.

Erik had only to endure until then. Let Charles seek pleasure and comfort in whomever he chose. Erik wasn’t going to ruin that for him.

Or at least, he didn’t mean to. But one evening as he sat in his study going over inventories, a knock came at his door. Thinking it was Janos, he leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Yes?”

Charles opened the door. “My lord.”

Erik rose, all traces of weariness vanishing in an instant. “Charles. Come in.”

Charles closed the door behind himself and bowed slightly. “I apologize for the interruption.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Erik said. “You don’t need to apologize. Please, sit. Do you need something?”

After a beat of hesitation, Charles seated himself in the chair to the left of Erik’s desk, sighing softly as he did. His feet must be sore, Erik thought. His belly was getting heavy, clearly swelling under his loose linen shirt now. He was still a little slighter than the physician liked, but both he and the child were healthy.

Erik wondered if Charles and Moira were being safe in their activities, but there was no way he could think to ask without making things unbearably awkward. Surely Charles would never do anything to endanger the child, so Erik tried not to worry.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Charles said finally.

Erik sat again and nodded. “Of course.”

Charles studied his hands for a moment. Then he looked up and met Erik’s eyes. “Are you upset with me?”

Erik was so taken aback for a second that he couldn’t immediately reply.

“Be frank with me, Erik,” Charles said, frowning. “I would rather know what I’ve done wrong than have my feelings spared.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Erik said, because it was the truth. It was Erik who was behaving foolishly.

“Then why haven’t you invited me to join you for dinner in the last week? And why have you been taking pains to avoid me?” When Erik opened his mouth, Charles gave him a stern look. “Don’t deny it. I know you’re not too busy to see me, especially with this storm keeping us all indoors.”

As their tentative friendship had developed, Charles had become more and more candid and assertive. Erik was almost sorry for it now; Charles’s forthright gaze made him feel awkward and vulnerable, like a child who had not been paying attention to lessons and was now expected to recite an answer for the expectant tutor.   

“I thought you might want to spend more time with Captain MacTaggert,” he said, a little stiffly. “I didn’t want to interfere.”

“Oh.”

 _Oh._ That was all?

It wasn’t until that moment that Erik realized what he had wanted Charles to say: _You’re mistaken, Erik. Captain MacTaggert and I are nothing but friends, and she has never laid a hand on me, nor I on her._ But Charles denied nothing. He only sat there quietly and looked discomfited, but not ashamed.

“Well,” he said after a moment, “I didn’t think that by entertaining a…companion, I would be giving up our friendship. When we first met, you said you didn’t expect me to share your bed. You said we could seek out others for our needs.”

“I did.”

Charles paused. A bit uncertainly, he said, “I’m sure that _you’ve_ shared your bed with others since we’ve been married.”

“I haven’t,” Erik said through gritted teeth. “Not once.”

“Oh.” Charles flushed and looked away. “I thought…”

“For more than two months, I’ve spent every evening in your company. Don’t you think I would have mentioned it, or you would have noticed?”

Charles’s flush deepened. “I thought you were being discreet. And I would not have expected you to—to discuss your lovers with me. Even if we were friends.”

“ _If?”_

“I mean,” Charles stammered, “we _are_ friends, of course. Or I thought we were.” He gave Erik a searching look. “Was I wrong?”

 _Yes,_ Erik wanted to say, mouth curled in a sneer. _You were wrong. We are convenient solutions to each other’s problems, nothing more._

But that was the jealousy talking. That was the irrational anger. Erik swallowed back those cruel words and said, “No, you weren’t. I was only…” He sighed, trying to smooth away his resentment. “I’m sorry. I should not have let you wonder if you had done something wrong. I suppose I’ll have to get used to the idea of you having—companions.”

Perhaps Erik’s expression betrayed something of his true feelings. Perhaps it was his voice, which sounded strained even to his ears. Whatever it was, it made Charles’s eyes widen slightly in realization.

Erik looked away, cheeks heating. Was he really so transparent?

After a long, painful moment, Charles said, “We only…Lady MacTaggert and I, we have only shared a bed twice. I think I like her better as a friend than as a lover.” When Erik looked up, Charles was blushing furiously. “After both times, I realized that…she wasn’t the one I really wanted.”

Erik felt another surge of jealousy, followed by an equal surge of pity. So. After all this time, Charles was still pining for the mysterious alpha he had left behind, the sire of his child. What a hold that alpha must have on him, to still possess Charles’s mind and heart even separated by distance and by formal bonds.

 _I hope one day you are free of him,_ Erik thought. He did not say it aloud, not wanting to shatter Charles’s hopes. Perhaps the true cruelty was allowing Charles to dwell in his feelings, to continue to dream of his lost alpha, but Erik couldn’t bring himself to say anything about it. It had taken Charles so long to find even a small measure of happiness here. Erik was reluctant to diminish it, even for Charles’s own good.

Charles stood up abruptly, his face red. “I will leave you to your business, my lord. I apologize for taking so much of your time.”

The sudden cold formality in his voice that caught Erik off-guard. “Charles?”

Charles bowed stiffly and stepped back toward the door. “Goodnight, my lord.”  

He was gone before Erik could even muster himself to stand, leaving Erik with the distinct feeling that he had misstepped, though he could not imagine where, or how.


	4. Chapter 4

The morning was pale and bright, gray storm clouds relenting at last after nearly a week of sleet and snowfall. Charles took breakfast alone in his rooms, as he always did, and then sat for a while in the cozy armchair beside the huge, round window in his sitting room. He had a book in hand, but instead of reading, he was gazing outside, lost in thought.

It had been nine days since Moira had left. The roads had thawed enough that Lady Munroe and her retinue could continue their journey south and, not wanting to trespass too long on Erik’s hospitality, they had departed at the first opportunity. It was a good thing they had, too—if they had delayed for another few days, they would certainly have been caught in this second, fiercer storm. By now they had to be well south, clear of the tempestuous northern weather.

Charles had been sorry to see Moira go, not because he had loved her, not in _that_ way, but because she had been a friend to him at a time when he’d felt so alone. But she had told him that Lady Munroe might very well pass this way again on her way back north, and if she did, they would certainly come visit. So she wasn’t gone forever.

But it was lonely again without her companionship. He still took his dinners with Erik, played chess with him, and discussed with him all manners of interesting topics, but there was a tension between them that hadn’t existed between him and Moira. Being with her was easy, uncomplicated. Being with Erik was decidedly not.

He hated himself a little for that. Damn it all, hadn’t he learned his lesson once already? He had gone and fallen recklessly in love, only to come to the shattering realization that he’d been alone in his feelings. And now here he was again, wanting…

Wanting was ill-advised. Wanting was dangerous. He didn’t think he could handle that disappointment and heartbreak a second time, especially knowing he could never escape Erik if he confessed his feelings and was humiliated.

He felt as if he’d suffered a small humiliation already. He’d told Erik that Moira hadn’t been the one he’d really wanted, and Erik’s answering silence had spoken volumes. Perhaps he’d been too kind to reject Charles outright. Perhaps he’d been too shocked at the realization to answer. After all, it had to be a difficult notion to accept: his wayward husband, carrying some other alpha’s illegitimate child, was attracted to him, wanted him. Perhaps Erik found the idea disgusting and had been too polite to show it.

Charles flushed now at the memory, mortified. How could he have said such a thing to Erik, so boldly, so hopefully? Erik had never shown interest in Charles, not like that.

 _And he never will,_ Charles told himself sternly. _What could he see in you? You’ve already shown poor judgment, allowing an alpha to get you pregnant outside of marriage. And he’s already sacrificed much to save your reputation and protect your child. You have nothing to offer him._

Suddenly tired, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, struggling not to give into despondency, despair. He’d get over these inconvenient desires. He’d learn to be happy here, somehow. He had to.

A knock at the door made him open his eyes again. Wondering if it was a servant come to tidy up his rooms, he called out, “Enter.”

It wasn’t a servant. It was Erik, dressed finely in riding clothes, his hair combed neatly, his beard trimmed. He looked dashing and commanding, every bit a noble lord. Charles’s heart jumped at the sight of him.

“My lord,” he said, surprised. After a moment, he started to get up, belatedly.

Erik waved at him. “No, sit, sit.” Crossing over to him, he glanced down at the book in Charles’s lap. “Reading?”

“It seemed like a pleasant morning for it.”

“Indeed. The storm’s broken.”

“I noticed.” Charles glanced out the window. The snow in the gardens below was nearly blinding where the sun struck it. “I’m sure it’s beautiful outside now.”

Erik nodded. “It is. I came to ask you if you wanted to ride with me this morning. I’m going out to check on the town and some of the farms nearby, to see how they weathered the storm. It might…” He hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps you’d like a change of scenery? You haven’t left the estate grounds since you first came here, and that was months ago.”

Had it really been so long? True, his old life in Westchester seemed far distant, and he was a different man now, matured by the circumstances fate had thrust him into. And yet, at the same time, he still felt like a stranger here, a guest in this house when he should have felt like one of its masters. Some days he wondered if Ironhold would ever feel like home, or if he’d always see himself as an outsider, an interloper. 

Well. Shutting himself up in his rooms and refusing to go outside was probably a bad way to go about making this place his home. He could stay in be miserable, or he could go out with Erik and at least take in some fresh air.

“I’d be happy to accompany you,” Charles said, setting his book aside.

Erik smiled. “I was hoping you’d agree. I’ve had a carriage prepared—I’m not sure you ought to get on a horse in your condition.”

“I do enjoy riding but…” Charles lay a hand on his swelling belly with a small, rueful smile. “Perhaps you’re right.”

He expected Erik to take a horse, but after helping Charles up into the carriage, Erik climbed in after and settled himself on the bench across from Charles. He rapped his knuckles against the window, and the carriage jolted into motion, carrying them swiftly out the gates and onto the road that led to the town in the vale below.

Charles glanced out the window, curious about the scenery. On his way here, he’d been too sick with fear and dread to pay any attention to what Ironhold actually looked like. The hills made a lovely sight, covered in fresh snowfall. Everything looked clean and bright, not at all as foreboding or intimidating as Charles had feared when he’d first arrived.

After a couple of minutes, he became aware that Erik was studying him, his pale gaze like a steady weight on Charles’s shoulders. When Charles turned his head, their eyes met for a brief instant before Charles glanced away again, feeling strange and hot.

Erik asked, “Well? What do you think?”

“You have beautiful lands,” Charles said honestly.

“We.”

“Pardon?”

“ _We_ have beautiful lands.” Erik regarded him with a soft look. “What’s mine is yours, by right of marriage. You know that.”

Why was he looking at Charles like that? And why was it so hard to meet his eyes for more than a few seconds at a time?

Charles was abruptly aware of how close they were, knees nearly touching. If the carriage hit a rough patch of road and jolted them both, Charles could easily see himself falling forward into Erik’s lap. Erik would catch him, those large strong hands on Charles’s arms, and…

The idea of it made him blush. He was a grown man—a grown, _married_ man. Why was he having these schoolchild fantasies? 

“You’re quiet,” Erik observed.

Surely he noticed the color in Charles’s cheeks. How mortifying. Charles cast about for some safe topic of discussion and finally settled on a question he’d been pondering since the beginning.

“You’ve never asked,” he said quietly, forcing himself to look Erik in the eye. “About the sire.”  

If Erik was surprised by the query, he didn’t show it. “Does it matter?”

“I don’t know.” Charles hesitated. “Some people would want to know.”

“Some people might,” Erik agreed. “I don’t care.”

It was difficult for Charles to believe that Erik wasn’t even the least bit curious about the child’s true father. If he had been any other alpha, surely he would have forced Charles to reveal the sire’s name by now. But there was no duplicity or reluctance in Erik’s expression, only sincerity. He really cared nothing about Charles’s past lover.

“Why not?” Charles asked, puzzled. 

“If I know, will it change anything? You will still be my husband. The child will still be my heir. What would I stand to gain by forcing the name from you?”

“Power, perhaps,” Charles said. “Over me. Over the sire.”

Erik raised an eyebrow. “You think I would stoop so low as to blackmail you or the sire? To what end?”

Charles shrugged helplessly. “Some people enjoy having power over anyone they can manage, even if they have no plans to use it.”  

“And you think I’m that sort of man?”

Charles realized how absurd the idea was as soon as it crossed his mind. Erik wasn’t greedy or malicious or selfishly ambitious. Of course he didn’t care about the sire’s identity. He had no reason to care.

Charles was filled with an unexpected rush of relief. He didn’t want to think about his old lover anymore. He especially didn’t want to discuss him with Erik.

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re a very good man, and I’m lucky to have ended up here.”

Erik didn’t immediately reply. He only looked at Charles in thoughtful silence, with a gentleness that made Charles avert his gaze, his cheeks warm. After a moment, Erik leaned forward and very slowly took Charles’s hand. “Charles—”

The carriage halted. There was a tap on the window, and one of the footmen announced, “We’ve arrived at the town, my lord.” 

Erik withdrew his touch. “Well. Shall we go then?”

Charles nodded, resisting the urge to reach for Erik’s hand again. Had the tender look in Erik’s eyes when they’d touched been real, or had he only imagined it? Had he seen it only because he wished for it?

Oh Lord. He was well and truly in danger, wasn’t he? 


	5. Chapter 5

The town had fared well in the storm. Most of the snow had been shoveled off the main roads, and everyday business had resumed. Only one house had taken significant damage: one corner of its roof had sagged with the weight of the snowfall and threatened to collapse entirely.

“It won’t take much work to mend,” said its master, an older man of about fifty. “But I thank you for your concern, my lord.”

Despite the man’s assurances, Erik still stood and spoke with him for a while, ensuring he had the supplies and manpower he needed to repair the roof. When the man admitted that he had no sons or daughters strong enough to aid him with the work, Erik promised to send along a few of his own people to lend a hand.

Charles saw examples of his kindness and generosity all morning. All the townspeople were friendly with Erik, and he knew all their names and their families. At one house, he asked about the wellbeing of a babe who had been born nearly six months ago. At another, he remembered that the eldest daughter in the house had been apprenticed to the blacksmith, and asked about how she was getting along.

Silent but observant, Charles shadowed Erik as he made his rounds through the town. At every opportunity, Erik introduced Charles as his husband and made sure to name everyone they came across so Charles might begin to learn their faces. The townspeople were curious and friendly, but Charles felt too awkward to engage with them beyond brief pleasantries. It was clear they loved Erik, and seeing their willingness to extend that affection to Charles made him feel guilty, almost ashamed.

Erik deserved better than Charles. The truth of it stuck like a stone in Charles’s throat. Their marriage wasn’t fraudulent by any means, but neither had it been proper and above reproach. These people thought their lord had found and married a worthy omega who would help guide and rule them. They were wrong.

Some of the town elders drew Erik away to discuss something about winter rationing. Charles gazed after them for a moment before turning and walking the other way, peering at the buildings on either side of the street to distract himself. Two servants followed at a discreet distance, close enough to come running if he called, far enough away that he could pretend he was alone.

He glanced at the bakery, the tavern, an artisan’s workshop—and his eye caught on a sign swinging above a pale blue awning. The sign had no words, only a picture: three books stacked atop one another. A glance at the display window below it confirmed that it was indeed a bookstore.

Unable to help himself, Charles crossed the street. At the door, he turned back, saw Erik still deep in conversation with the elders, and decided to go in.

The comforting smell of parchment and ink enveloped him instantly, and he found tears pricking at the corners of his eyes at the familiarity of it. Once upon a time, his rooms in Westchester had smelled just like this, musty and old and comfortable. For a moment, he missed home so much his chest ached.

“My lord?” said a tentative voice to his left.   

Turning, he found a young girl behind the counter. She was probably no more than fourteen years old. She had a scholarly look about her that Charles liked immediately. 

“Hello,” he said. “I was just…I wanted to look around.”

She dipped in a quick curtsy. “Of course, my lord. May I assist you in finding anything?”

Charles thought of his collection at home, dozens upon dozens of volumes he had inherited from his father or bought himself over the years. None of them had made the trip to Ironhold; Kurt had bundled Charles off too quickly for him to pack anything but the bare essentials.

Perhaps it had been for the best, Charles told himself. Some of those books had been gifts from _him_ , and Charles would rather lose those books forever rather than have them here with him, a constant reminder of past indiscretions and foolishness.

“I’d just like to look,” he said finally.

“Of course.”

He wandered from shelf to shelf, touching familiar titles when he found them, picking up others that interested him. For a while, he could pretend that he was home again in Westchester. He could pretend he had just spent the morning walking to town and had stopped at the bookstore there to browse for some new volume to add to his collection. And when he was done shopping, he would go home to the house he had lived in all his life, sit and laugh with Raven over dinner, pat the hounds that lay by the main hearth during the chilly nights, go to sleep in his own warm bed…

“Charles?”

He started, nearly dropping the book he’d picked up. When he looked up, he found Erik standing at the end of the aisle, watching him curiously.

He slid the book in his hand back into its place on the shelf. “Erik. You startled me.”

“I’m sorry.” Erik came closer. His eyes paused briefly on the book Charles had put back. “Did you find something you wanted?”

“No, I was only looking.”

“If you want anything, you need only ask. I would be happy to buy it for you.”

Charles shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to feel even more indebted to Erik than he already did. “I’ve looked my fill. Are you done with business? Shall we go back?”

Erik studied him for a long moment. Then he dipped his head in assent. “We’ll make a loop to check on the nearest farms, then head home. Are you tired? You could go back in the carriage first, if you wanted.”

It was a tempting offer but…as uncomfortable as he felt meeting the people of Ironhold, he knew he had a responsibility to get to know them anyway. Even if he hadn’t come to be Erik’s husband honorably, he was still lord of Ironhold now, alongside Erik. It would be a greater disgrace for him to shirk his duties. Erik had been lenient enough already with him, allowing him time to settle in and adjust without piling responsibilities on his shoulders. 

“No, I’m fine,” he said at last.

“If you’re certain.” 

Charles squared his shoulders. “I’m certain.”

For the rest of the morning and partly into the afternoon, they visited the farms nearby, spoke with the landholders, assessed the conditions of their properties, and promised aid to those who needed it. By the time they finally returned to the manor, Charles was exhausted and starving.

He was also happier than he remembered being in a long, long time, possibly since before he’d come here. For the first time in ages, he felt productive, useful. And spending hours in Erik’s company had been no hardship either.

“We ought to have had a more substantial lunch,” Erik said, running a worried eye over Charles as they waited for dinner to be brought up to them. They were in Erik’s rooms, sitting across from each other in the salon. “You hardly had anything to eat.”

“I wasn’t hungry then,” Charles told him. “I only just realized I was hungry now.” He tugged at his cloak, which was now a little muddy at the hem from the day’s traveling. “A bath would be nice, too. After dinner, perhaps.”

“Of course. I’ll have the servants prepare one for you.”

It was always like this, Charles realized. The moment he asked for something, Erik granted the request immediately, without hesitation. Before today, Charles had wondered if Erik was so kind to everyone, or if he treated Charles differently. Now he knew that Erik would have extended the same courtesy to any of his guests.

 _But would he?_ whispered a quiet, hopeful voice in Charles’s head. _Would he be so quick to please just anyone? Doesn’t he wear that tender look only for you?_

But was that truly tenderness in Erik’s eyes? Or was it only the same cool reserve with which he regarded everyone he met?

“Did you enjoy the outing?” Erik asked after a silence.

Charles nodded. “The fresh air did me good, I think. I’ve been cooped up for too long.” He paused, then added, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?”

Even embarrassed as he was, Charles forced himself to meet Erik’s gaze. “As your husband, it’s my duty to learn to govern the household and the lands at your side. I’ve neglected my responsibilities.”

“You’ve been…understandably distracted. I thought you would want time to get used to life here.”

“You’ve made enough allowances for me, I think.”

“I would make more,” Erik said softly, “if you asked for them.”

There was that gentleness in his voice again, and in his eyes. Charles remembered Erik’s hand clasping his in the carriage and flushed.

“Erik…” He trailed off, not sure what he had been about to say.

Erik got up and walked over to him. Slowly, his eyes pinned to Charles’s, he raised his hand and touched Charles’s cheek.

They were both still for a moment. Then Charles turned into the caress, letting out a soft breath.

“I don’t want…” Erik swallowed. “I don’t expect anything from you. Not this, if you are unwilling to give it.”

Charles couldn’t tell if the hot, churning feeling in his stomach was anticipation or fear. Both, perhaps.

The memory of his first lover still lingered so strongly he sometimes dreamt of _his_ touch on his skin. And the proof of their union became more and more pronounced with each passing week.

He wasn’t sure if he was ready for something now. But he wanted—oh, he _wanted_.

Erik started to withdraw his touch, but before he could step away, Charles grabbed his hand and touched his lips to Erik’s knuckles. “Yes,” he murmured against Erik’s skin. “Not yet but…I’m willing. Yes.”

If Erik was confused by his answer, he didn’t show it. He only smiled, the sharp lines of his face melting into such sudden happiness that Charles’s breath caught in his throat.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Erik said. Turning his hand, he brushed his thumb gently against Charles’s lower lip.

Somehow it felt more intimate than a kiss.


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next few weeks, Charles threw himself into learning his duties at Ironhold and carrying them out. As a nobly born omega, he had, of course, been tutored in a wide array of subjects, all of them designed to make him both a more desirable spouse and a more efficient, effective administrator. He could do sums and figures in his sleep, knew how to negotiate fair deals, had a good grasp of the political landscape and how it might affect the economic stability of the region. But knowing all of this and putting such knowledge to use were altogether two different things. 

The days were no longer quite so dull and sad when he had a dozen tasks to complete between sunup and sundown. There was no time at all during the day to think of Westchester, or of the lover he had left behind. In the evenings, he’d take dinner with Erik, and they would talk late into the night before parting, and by then Charles would be too tired to think, let alone dream. It was a good kind of tired though, the kind that comes of hard work done well.

Erik’s gaze lingered on him for longer and longer these days, or perhaps Charles had only just started to notice his attention more. Charles studied him in return, admiring Erik’s lean physique, his broad shoulders, his narrow hips, his elegant hands. It felt strange, being able to eye Erik openly like this, to make his interest known without feeling ashamed or afraid of getting caught.

In Westchester, he and his lover had had to sneak around. They had tried never to look at each other for more than a few seconds at a time, and they’d spent their days pretending to be strangers. The secrecy had been so thrilling then. It was less charming now, in retrospect.

Charles relished the freedom to look at Erik whenever he wanted, to touch Erik whenever the impulse came to him. He liked being able to lay his hand on Erik’s arm to call his attention, or run his fingers across the straight line of Erik’s shoulders whenever they were alone. Erik responded in kind, linking their hands together when they talked, brushing Charles’s cheek in greeting or goodbye.

They hadn’t yet kissed, not once. But Charles wasn’t in a rush. Compared to the hastiness with which his last relationship had been consummated, he was rather enjoying this slow, gradual courtship.

One morning, he was sitting at his desk looking over the ledger from the fall harvest when Erik came in. He knocked but scarcely gave Charles a chance to reply before opening the door. Those were the sorts of liberties spouses could take with one another, Charles thought with a pang of contentment.

“Good morning,” Erik said, coming over to stand next to Charles’s chair. “At work already? It’s early yet.”

“You’re getting an early start in yourself,” Charles replied, eyeing him. “You’re dressed for riding. Are you going out?”

“Yes. There’s been some trouble in Dern.”

Dern was a town two days’ ride south, well within Erik’s lands. So it couldn’t be raiders, who stuck to the southern border where they could strike and escape into the foothills. “Trouble?”

“Nothing serious,” Erik assured him. “The dam by the town broke three days ago, and they need help repairing it. I’ll be taking a few men and some wagons to lend a hand.”

Not many lords would personally ride out to see to a matter like that, but Erik wasn’t most lords. Of course he’d want to oversee the repairs himself. Charles liked that about him, but he also had to suppress a sigh at the thought of not seeing Erik for four days or more. It would be the longest they’d been apart since they’d been married.

“I wish I could go with you,” Charles said.

Erik touched his jaw. “Me too. But I won’t be gone long. You’ll hardly notice my absence.”

“Oh hush. You know very well I will miss you.”

Erik smiled. “I’ll miss you, too. I’m sure you’ll have plenty to keep you busy while I’m away though. I expect the household to still be in one piece when I return.”

“Ha ha,” Charles muttered. “I’ll do my best not to destroy anything.”

Perhaps if he’d realized how fateful those words would be, he would have spoken more carefully. As it was, he gave Erik a kiss on the knuckles in farewell and went back to work.

Two nights later, he found himself too restless to sleep. He was hungry and craving something sweet, but he was loath to disturb any of the servants. Instead, he swung a cloak over his shoulders and crept down to the kitchens, intending to search for something to eat. As he neared the bottom of the stairs, a peculiar, flickering glow began to paint the stone walls orange and yellow. Frowning, he rounded the corner and—

Fire. Heat. Smoke, thick and paralyzing.

Charles stood frozen for several seconds. Then, galvanized by fear and worry, he leaped down the remaining stairs and rushed forward to see the extent of the damage.

Flames swallowed the entire back of the kitchen, roaring and spitting heat that made him reel back. Without allowing himself a moment to think, he leaped for the room where the kitchen servants and the cook slept and threw open the door.

They woke the instant he shouted fire and scrambled out toward him. Smoke poured into the room, wreathed the ceiling. The cook grabbed his arms, eyes wide. “My lord! Go, go!”

He was starting to get dizzy. Together they raced up the stairs, taking them two, three at a time. Once they reached clearer air, Charles seized the nearest servant and ordered, “Go wake the steward.” To three others, he said, “Knock on every door you see and wake everyone. Send those who are able down here. We’ll make a water line and try to put out the fire before it spreads anywhere else.”

Anything that could hold water was fetched, and a column was formed that stretched out to the well in the courtyard. Charles stayed long enough to make sure the line was working efficiently, then took several servants outside with him. The servants’ door that led from the kitchen to the outdoors was limned with firelight. He set a second line working from outside in and then went back inside to see to the progress of the first line.

For nearly two hours, they fought the fire back. It was slow going and hard work, but gradually, they gained ground. Charles ordered everyone who had been affected by the smoke and fire to be taken outside to the courtyard to be seen by the physician. They also soaked the roofs of nearby buildings to prevent the fire from spreading, and more hands were brought in from the outbuildings to replace those who tired or sickened from the smoke.

Finally, just as the horizon began to pale with oncoming dawn, the last of the fire was put out. Everyone retreated from the house at Charles’s command and sat exhausted in the courtyard. Charles circled through the crowd and was relieved to see that no one had been badly injured. The eastern corner of the house was scorched all to hell, but by some miracle, it looked like everyone had survived.

“My lord.” It was Janos the steward, touching his elbow gently. “You should rest. You’ve been moving all night.”

Charles waved him off. “I’m fine.” 

He’d hardly finished speaking when a fit of coughing overtook him. Instantly he was swarmed by several servants who supported him with hands on his arms. A chair appeared and he was urged to sit. In between one coughing spell and the next, the physician, young Hank McCoy, arrived and examined him thoroughly.

“Smoke inhalation,” he announced once he had looked in Charles’s mouth and listened to his lungs. “And a case of overexertion and possibly dehydration, I’d bet. Someone bring him water.”

Charles swallowed hard. His throat tasted of ash. “The child…?”

“Healthy, as far as I can tell. But you should rest. The stress isn’t good for either you or the baby.”

There were still matters to attend to. He couldn’t rest just yet.

With Hank’s grudging permission, he stayed a while longer to help Janos plan salvage teams once that corner of the house cooled enough for them to enter again. Once that was done, he allowed himself to be led back into the house through a safe entrance and shuffled off to bed.

“Shall I send a messenger to Lord Lehnsherr?” Janos asked.

Charles considered for a moment, then shook his head. “The disaster’s been averted. There’s no sense in worrying him. When I get up, I’ll write to him.” He planned on making the note as mild as possible to avoid alarming Erik.

Janos nodded. “Very well.”

Charles was asleep before Janos had even left the periphery of his vision.

He dreamed vaguely, mostly in indistinct color and flashes of faces, words. At one point he woke and found Hank hovering over him, his eyes wide and worried. At another, he woke gasping and coughing and tried to turn to call for water, but the world rolled and slipped away again before he could even utter a word.

Some interminable time later, he felt a hand on his forehead and opened his eyes. Erik was there, his mouth drawn into a tight line. When their gazes met, Erik’s hand trembled.

“You’re home?” Charles said, confused. He was startled by his voice—it sounded rough and gritty, as if he hadn’t spoken in days.

“I’ve been home,” Erik said quietly. He paused, then added, “You’ve been sick.”

“Sick…?” The memories of flames and smoke came back to him in a rush. “The fire!”

“Yes.”

“Is everyone…?”

“Everyone’s alright. No one was badly hurt.” Erik’s frown deepened. “Except you.”

Charles let out a breathless laugh. “What? I wasn’t hurt.”

“You fell sick. Doctor McCoy says it was the smoke you inhaled. You’ve been sleeping for four days.”

“ _Four days!”_

“I rode back as soon as I heard,” Erik said grimly. “Janos sent me a message when you became feverish.”

“Four days!” Charles stared up at him. “But—am I alright? And the child—?”

Erik took his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “McCoy said once the fever broke, your recovery would be much more certain. He’s fairly confident the babe will be fine.” He leaned over—he was sitting in a chair by Charles’s bedside, Charles realized—and pressed his mouth to Charles’s knuckles almost desperately. “When I came back and saw how badly the house was damaged,” he whispered, “I was so afraid…I thought…”

Charles’s heart clenched tight in his chest. He reached out and laid a hand gently on Erik’s head, running his fingers through Erik’s hair. “I’m fine.”

He felt Erik’s shaky inhalation against his skin. “Yes. Thank god.” He was silent for a long couple of minutes. Then he muttered, “Don’t ever be so brave again.”

Charles’s throat hurt as if it had been scraped raw, but it felt good to laugh. “I make no promises.”

Erik raised his head and looked at him for several seconds. Then he rose, leaned over, and pressed a gentle, brief kiss to Charles’s mouth.

“I can’t lose you,” he said. His voice was nearly as rough as Charles’s.

Charles squeezed his hand. Despite the ache in his throat, despite the exhaustion sunk down to his very bones, despite the stench of smoke that still clung to his skin, he felt like soaring. He felt suddenly alive with the promise of—of something he could not yet name.

“You have me,” he whispered, eyes bright. “I’m right here.” 


	7. Chapter 7

Once the fever broke, Charles’s condition improved rapidly. Within a day, he was up and walking around again, and within two, he was insisting on getting back to work.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t rest for another day at least?” Erik asked as they walked to Charles’s study. “McCoy said—”

“Hank said I could resume my duties as soon as I felt well enough to do so,” Charles replied. “I feel fine.”

His voice was still hoarse and he still had a cough, but McCoy had noted significant improvement in both. Charles had had a healthy appetite ever since he’d woken up, and he was no longer quite as pale and wan. Even so, Erik worried about him. He had to resist the urge to wrap Charles up and keep him hidden away and safe.

“What?”

Erik blinked. Charles was regarding him with a faint smile. “Hmm?”

“You’re looking at me strangely,” Charles said.

“Oh.” Erik dropped his gaze, flushing slightly. “I was…thinking.”

“About what?”

“About…nesting,” Erik admitted, embarrassed to be saying it out loud. Nesting was such an outdated notion, though most alphas still had the instinct for it.

Charles didn’t tease though; he only glanced curiously at Erik. “Really? I didn’t think you’d feel that way, since the child isn’t…”

He didn’t finish but Erik knew what he’d been about to say: _isn’t yours._ He was surprised himself—the nesting instinct normally surfaced in an alpha who had gotten an omega with child. The baby Charles carried wasn’t his, and yet he felt a fierce protectiveness toward it all the same.

“I didn’t expect this either,” Erik said. Then he frowned, apologetic. “I hope I’m not overstepping—”

Charles laughed softly. “How? For wanting to keep me and our child safe?”

 _Our child_. The way Charles was looking at him suggested he’d said that deliberately. A warm thrill shot down Erik’s spine, and he felt his face heat with pleasure. Perhaps the baby wasn’t his biologically, but he would share it with Charles in all the ways that mattered. It was theirs, and that was the end of it.

“Someone needs to,” Erik said, smiling. “Now that I know you have an affinity for fire, I’ll have to keep a closer eye on you.”

“ _An affinity for fire_.” Charles snorted. “An affinity for disaster, perhaps. Although let’s hope that that fire was the last trouble we’ll have for a very long time.”

Erik agreed wholeheartedly.

At the door of Charles’s study, Charles turned back to face him. “Well,” he said, “I’ll see you at dinner tonight?”

“Yes.” Erik paused, then added, “Or sooner, if you have time.”

Charles smiled. “Sooner then.” He stepped in close, took Erik by the lapels of his coat, and pressed a quick, almost shy kiss to Erik’s mouth. “Go on then,” he murmured against Erik’s lips, “we both have work to do.”

“How do you expect me to think of such things with you pressed so close to me?” Erik replied lowly. Only with an effort did he keep from wrapping his arms around Charles to pull him even closer.

Charles gave him an unexpectedly wicked smile. “Well, my lord, I suppose you must answer that question yourself while _I_ go tally accounts.” He kissed Erik again, fleetingly, and then turned and closed his study door.

Erik was so startled he laughed.

They met in the afternoon for tea, but Erik was soon called away to business again. It wasn’t until dinner that they at last had some real time to themselves, and as the first course was served, Charles launched into a summary of his day, regaling Erik with little stories and jokes that made Erik just smile at him, helplessly enthralled. He was so different now from the silent, sad-eyed, stiffly formal boy he’d been when he’d first arrived. He was no longer quite so pale and thin, and he talked and laughed more. Erik didn’t think he’d ever tire of Charles’s voice, or the way his eyes brightened with pleasure whenever he found something particularly interesting or entertaining.

After a while though, Erik noticed that the servants were whisking away Charles’s plates only half-eaten. Normally Charles’s appetite eclipsed even Erik’s own.

“Are you not hungry?” Erik asked, unable to keep his concern from his voice.

Charles blinked in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t think…it’s nothing, my lord.”

Erik frowned. “Nothing?”  

“It’s just…” Charles hesitated for a moment, then heaved a sigh. “Oh, I’m having the most miserable cravings for something sweet. Something with strawberries.”

“But strawberries aren’t—”

“Aren’t in season!” Charles rubbed a hand across his face. “That’s the miserable thing about it.” He sighed again, then visibly gathered himself and picked up his fork. “Please don’t trouble yourself about it. There’s nothing to be done.” 

“Isn’t there anything else you’d like?” Erik asked. “You needn’t force yourself to eat this if you don’t want to. I’ll have the cook make whatever you’d prefer.”

“I’d hate to be an inconvenience—”

“You aren’t,” Erik said firmly. “Come now, you’re my husband, and you’re with child. The last thing you should be worried about is being an inconvenience. I’m sure the cook will be happy to send up whatever you want, if it’s possible. I’ll ring for the servants.”

Within half an hour, new dishes were brought up, a creamy potato soup, marinated chicken, boiled leeks, scrambled eggs, and toast. It was an odd assortment, but Charles dug into it with more gusto than he’d displayed before. Erik watched him contentedly, his baser alpha instincts pleased at having satisfied his omega.

After dinner, they played chess, debated the merits of traveling by land or by sea, and discussed their favorite books. At the conclusion of the evening, Charles kissed Erik lightly on the lips, squeezed his hand, and bade him goodnight.

So this was what it meant to be in love. Erik’s mother had attempted more than once to describe it to him, but he had never paid her much attention. He wished now she were still alive to witness this. It would have given her great joy to see him so happy.

Only one thing might make him happier. The thought of it plagued him over the next couple of days until finally he consulted with his chatelaine about how they might acquire a shipment from the south, and she agreed to arrange for it. The price was excessive for only a small crate, but Erik gave the chatelaine leave to spend as much as necessary. Charles’s reaction would be worth it, whatever the cost.  

One evening three weeks later, they took their dinner together as usual and, as the servants cleared their plates and Charles started to lean back away from the table, Erik said, “Wait. I have a surprise for you.”

Charles cocked his head. “A surprise?”

At Erik’s signal, a servant brought in a covered plate and set it in front of Charles, who stared down at it curiously. “What is the surprise for?”

“For you.”

“Oh, I know _that_. I mean, what’s the occasion?”

“I thought it might make you happy.” Erik leaned forward. “Take a look.”

Charles raised the lid and froze. Erik studied his face closely, eager for his reaction. For an agonizing moment, his expression was indecipherable. Then he said wonderingly, “Strawberry cream cake. How did you…”

“I had the strawberries shipped in from the south,” Erik explained, feeling inordinately proud of himself. “A whole crate of them, so there’s more in the kitchen if you want more later. The cook said cream cake would probably be the most efficient use for them if you wanted something sweet and—” To his horror, he realized suddenly that Charles was crying. Alarmed, he stood up. “Charles?”

“I’m not upset,” Charles said quickly, wiping his eyes. “I’m just…” He gave a couple of hiccoughing breaths, then looked at Erik, his eyes bright and damp. “I love you.”

Erik’s heart seized in his chest. For a long few seconds, it was all he could do to stay standing instead of collapsing back into his seat, weak all over.

“I love you, too,” he managed finally.

Charles got up and came around the table to Erik. Pulling Erik down gently, he kissed him once, then again. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

Erik gave into the urge to gather Charles closer and kiss him again, more deeply this time. Charles’s fingers tangled in Erik’s hair, and his eyes fluttered shut. His swelling, heavy belly pressed against Erik’s stomach, warm and firm, and in that moment, Erik was even grateful for the child’s sire, whoever he was, because without him, Charles would never have come here, and they would never have found each other.

Charles pulled back slightly and opened his eyes. “What are you smiling about?”

Erik laughed. “I was just thinking about how I’ll have to thank the child’s sire one day, if our paths ever cross. Without him, you wouldn’t be here with me.”

Charles smiled. “I suppose that’s one way of thinking of it.” He raised a hand and stroked Erik’s hair back from his forehead. “I’m glad for him, too. I never thought I’d say that, but I am.” With a soft sigh, he leaned his head against Erik’s shoulder. “I’ve spent so long being angry at him, hating him. But I would never have been happy with him if we had somehow been able to stay together. Sometimes I don’t think I really knew what happiness was before I came here. Before I met you.”

Erik’s heart clenched. He couldn’t breathe for a moment through the knot of emotion in his throat. He stroked a hand roughly down Charles’s back and buried his nose in Charles’s hair, closing his eyes.

Eventually Charles stirred. “We should have the cake before it melts.”

“Oh. Yes.” Erik let go of him reluctantly. When he started to move back to his seat though, Charles caught his hand and said, “Bring your chair over here, sit by me. How else are we going to share?”

Smiling, Erik carried his chair over to Charles’s and sat close enough that their knees brushed. They took turns taking bites of the sweet cake until it was gone, and then Charles kissed the last of the cream off Erik’s mouth.

“Stay,” Erik said impulsively. “Stay the night with me.”

Charles went still immediately. Cursing his mouth, Erik said hurriedly, “If you wish otherwise—”

“Yes,” Charles interrupted. He took Erik’s hand, lifted it to his mouth, and kissed Erik’s palm gently. “Yes, I’ll stay.”


	8. Chapter 8

So followed the most blissful winter of Charles’s life. Every morning he woke in Erik’s bed— _their_ bed now—warmly nestled in Erik’s arms, feeling safe and comfortable and loved. They had breakfast together in the salon and then parted, with many lingering kisses along the way, to see to their separate duties. When time permitted, they took lunch together, too, and always they shared dinner. Some nights they played chess after or read quietly by the fire before turning in. Some nights they went directly to bed.

Charles had only ever had two lovers in his life—and he had had Moira only very briefly—so Erik now made three. He had been afraid at first that sex with Erik would remind him too much of the past, of secret trysts in gardens and in darkened rooms, but being with Erik couldn’t have been more different. Erik was kind and gentle and attentive, and Charles never felt unsure of him, either in bed or outside of it. How different it was, to be able to kiss and caress Erik in private and then be able to show affection in public as well, in full view of others! No more sneaking around, no more pretending to be indifferent. Those days were long gone now, and good riddance.

Charles hadn’t expected sharing a bed to change much (besides in the most obvious ways), and yet as the weeks wore on, he found himself feeling more…settled. More at ease with himself and with his home—and Ironhold _did_ feel like his home now. Perhaps it was being able to scent his alpha every morning, and being scented in return. Perhaps it was just how well he slept when he was wrapped in Erik’s arms. Whatever the case was, he felt refreshed, lighthearted, and energized. Waking up to Erik in his bed every morning was a constant delight.

He didn’t have to wonder if Erik felt the same way—Erik never bothered to hide his pleasure at having Charles by his side. Now that he knew his attentions were welcome, he lavished them on Charles whenever they were alone. It was surprising and lovely and overwhelming all at once, and Charles cherished every minute of their time together.  

One morning he woke to find Erik rubbing his belly gently, his expression thoughtful. “What?” Charles asked sleepily.

“Have you thought of a name?” Erik asked.

“Mm, one or two. Have you?”

Erik blinked, clearly startled. “Me?”

Charles smiled. “It’s your child, too, you know.”

Erik got the same soft, wondering look on his face that he always wore when Charles reminded him that he was to be a father, too, that this was his babe and his heir, no one else’s. Still rubbing Charles’s stomach, he thought for long moment. Then he said, “Lorna, perhaps, if it’s a girl.” 

“Lorna. I like it.” Charles put his hand over Erik’s. “I was thinking David, if it’s a boy.”

“A good, strong name.” Erik paused for a second. “And if it’s twins?”

Charles groaned. “Oh, heaven forbid. I’m ready for one child and one child only. I don’t know what I’d do with two.”

Erik laughed softly and nuzzled at his throat. “Whatever happens, we’ll manage.”

“Mm yes,” Charles murmured, stroking Erik’s hair. There wasn’t a thing he and Erik couldn’t face so long as they were together, Charles knew it.

He ought to have known such joy couldn’t last.

 

*

 

The thaw came earlier than expected that year, and before long, the roads were passable again. Charles wasn’t traveling anywhere anytime soon though—he was so heavy now that he was uncomfortable nearly all the time, and the physician said it would be soon now, he hadn’t long left to go. Erik fussed over him like a mother hen, and when he wasn’t fussing, he was checking over the nursery, ensuring that everything was in place and nothing had been overlooked.

“You’ve been over this room a hundred times,” Charles said tiredly as he watched Erik pace through the nursery yet again. “There isn’t anything else that needs doing.”

“Mm,” Erik muttered distractedly as he examined the crib. He rocked it slowly and frowned. “It feels uneven. Perhaps I should have it altered. Let me call Alex—”

“Oh don’t bother the boy.” Charles came over and tugged Erik away. “You’re restless, is all. Come away—you’re only going to worry yourself into a rut.”

“Hardly,” Erik said, but he allowed Charles to pull him out of the nursery and back into the adjacent sitting room.

They were just settling down for some tea, Charles very glad to get off his feet, when Janos appeared at the door, looking uncharacteristically grim. “You have a visitor, my lord.”

Erik frowned. “Who?”

“Lord Marko requests an audience with you.” Janos’s gaze slid to Charles. “With Lord Charles as well, sir.”

 _Marko_. Charles was gripped by a sudden, icy dread. What was Kurt Marko doing here? What could he possibly want from Erik, or from Charles?

Erik’s frown deepened, and he glanced over at Charles. He must have seen Charles’s fear because his eyes narrowed and he asked Janos sharply, “What does he want?”

“He didn’t say, my lord.”

Erik looked at Charles again for a long moment, then stood. “I’ll see him in my study, alone.”

For a second, Charles nearly allowed that. It would be easier not to see Marko again. Whatever he wanted, Erik could deal with him. Charles owed Marko nothing, not even a conversation.

And yet, they had said they would face anything together, had they not? And as afraid as Charles was, he had to know what had brought Marko here, for good or for ill.

Standing, he said, “I’ll come, too.” At Erik’s concerned look, Charles lifted his chin and said, “Whatever he has to say, he can say to us both.”

Erik hesitated, then nodded. “Alright.”

The walk to Erik’s study was short, too short. Charles had hardly had any time to gather himself before they had arrived, and only a moment after they’d stepped in and shut the door, Janos knocked and announced, “Lord Marko, my lords.”

Charles steeled himself, fists clenched. His heart pounded unsteadily in his chest, and he wished he could take Erik’s hand and squeeze it for comfort, but he was loath to show any weakness. He knew from experience that Marko would note it and find a way to use against him somehow. So he stood straight and proud and slid on a mask of haughty indifference, the kind he knew Marko found irritating.

The door swung open to admit their guest, and Marko swept in as if he were the master of the house. He was just as Charles remembered him: tall, cold, imposing, and richly dressed, the very picture of a wealthy lord. Looking at him, one would never guess that he had once been a lowly merchant’s son, and had only clawed his way to significance through trickery, bribery, and luck.

He bowed briefly to the middle space between the two of them and straightened. His expression was unreadable. “Lord Lehnsherr.”

“Marko,” Erik said flatly. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

“I come on business,” Marko said, taking no notice of Erik’s tone. His eyes cut over to Charles. “And I bring unhappy news, I’m afraid. Your mother has passed.”

Of all the things Charles had expected, that hadn’t been one of them. Shock made him sway slightly, and he had to lean back against Erik’s desk for a moment to steady himself. “What—what happened?”

“An illness took her,” Marko replied. Though he had been her lover for nearly a decade, his voice betrayed no hint of grief, only a callous matter-of-factness. “It was swift, if that is any consolation. The physician said she was in no pain, at the end.”

Erik stepped over to Charles and touched his elbow gently. Charles knew Marko was watching them closely, but he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into Erik, seeking his steadiness.

“What brings you here then?” Erik asked, giving Marko a hard stare. “Surely a courier could have brought that news.”

“Well.” Marko’s mouth twisted in a sneer. “As it so happens, the good Lady Sharon made a mistake in her accounts. She has willed the estate to Charles, rather than to me.”

Charles stared at him in utter shock. His mother had left _him_ the estate? Not just a plot of land, not just one of the outlying houses, but the _estate?_ Marko was right—this had to be a mistake. For most of his life, his mother had been indifferent to his existence. After he had fallen pregnant, that indifference had turned to tart disapproval. For her to have thought of him at all in the succession of the house…impossible.

“Then legally it is his,” Erik said coldly.

“Legally you have a claim to it as well,” Marko said. “You are his lord alpha, after all.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed. “And I suppose you have come to beg for some part of it?”

“ _Part_.” Marko smiled thinly. “No, Lord Lehnsherr, I’d like it all. And I will not beg. You will both relinquish your claim on the estate and all titles therein, or I will expose you.”

Charles went cold. Beside him, Erik stilled.

“You are wealthy and powerful and well-respected,” Marko said, “but it would only take a few sordid truths to ruin you. What would the court think if they knew the sort of harlot you’ve married?” He glanced at Charles with a razor sharp smile. “If they knew that he carries a bastard and you conspired with him to cover it up?” 


	9. Chapter 9

Only a lifetime spent practicing discipline and self-control kept Erik from leaping across the room and strangling Marko to death with his bare hands. That he had the _audacity_ to come into Erik’s home and threaten Erik’s reputation and his family, to dare to _blackmail_ them with the very deal he himself had helped arrange—it was beyond belief. It could not be real.

He hardly remembered the next few minutes. Cold rage descended over him, clouded his thoughts. Dimly he was aware of taking a menacing step toward Marko before Charles caught his arm and held him firmly back. He was aware of Charles summoning Janos and murmuring a soft order to him, after which Marko was led out and the two of them were left alone again.

It became easier to breathe once Marko was gone. Erik paced furiously from the window to the door, pale with anger. He could not find the words to speak for several minutes. The only thing on his mind was a powerful desire to see Marko dead, one way or another. The man was a damned _fool,_ to try to cross Erik like this. Erik had been a soldier once; he knew how to kill a man, and surely Marko knew that. Surely—

He stopped suddenly, remembering, through the haze of his rage, the rest of Marko’s news. Turning, he saw that Charles had sat down in the great chair behind the desk, and now Erik went to him and dropped to a knee. Taking Charles’s hand, he throttled back his anger and murmured, “I’m sorry about your mother.” 

“We were never very close,” Charles said. His voice was strange and cool, and his expression was blank. He looked, Erik realized after a moment, like he had when they had first met: untouchable and impassive, polite but reserved. His face was an aristocratic mask of cold courtesy.

That frightened Erik far more than Marko’s threat had. “Charles?”

Charles looked down at him. The ice in his blue eyes softened slightly, and he carded a hand through Erik’s hair, almost comfortingly, but Erik could feel his fingers trembling. “I can’t give him the estate.”

“I would never expect you to,” Erik said, indignant on his behalf. “It’s your birthright. It’s yours by law.”

“But I can’t let him ruin your honor either.”

 _Let him ruin it,_ Erik wanted to say. _I care nothing for it, the only thing I care about is you_.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Without his reputation intact, some of his less loyal allies would desert him. He would lose influence and power, and with them the careful net he had been building to bring the king to his knees. Even his soldiers and staff at Ironhold might lose respect for him, might no longer be so obedient. He had been plotting his revenge for so many years. The thought of losing it all now, when he had invested so much into the endeavor—he might have been brought to his knees if he hadn’t been kneeling already.

“I won’t have your house brought down because of me,” Charles said when Erik was silent.

“It’s not that I care more for my reputation than I do for you,” Erik started, desperate to make him understand.

Charles hushed him with touch on his jaw. “I know.” At Erik’s startled look, the ghost of a smile touched his lips. “My mother followed the court intrigue very closely, and I learned enough of it from her to know why you hesitate. It’s the same reason why you agreed to marry me in the first place.”

“To keep Stryker from claiming you.”

“And to gain access to my family’s name and influence. You’re gathering support to make a stand against the king.” Charles searched his expression. Whatever he saw there made him frown. “I thought so. My mother had suggested it, but she never said as much out loud. She was afraid of the thought of rebellion, I think. But you _are_ planning one, aren’t you?”

“Does everyone know?” Erik asked with some dismay.

“No, I don’t think so. It’s common knowledge that there’s bad blood between you and the king, but I don’t think many suspect that you would actually…” Charles trailed off, looking troubled for a moment. Then he sighed. “So you can’t throw away your reputation. Your allies would surely desert you if you did.”  

“But I won’t ask you to give up your lands. I have no right to ask that of you.”

“I would,” Charles murmured. “In a heartbeat, to stay with you, I would. Except I know Marko would be a poor steward. For all her faults, my mother ruled fairly. Marko would squander all our wealth and destroy the holding in a matter of months. There are people who depend on the master of Xavier Holding to oversee matters with a steady hand. Marko could never provide that to them. Even if he appointed stewards, he’d still ruin everything with his greed, I just know it.”

“You feel responsible for the people.”

“They’re mine, are they not?”

 _The people here are yours, too,_ Erik wanted to say. _By marriage, you rule this household as well._ But Charles knew that, of course. He didn’t need the reminder.

“So,” Erik said heavily, “what can we do?”

Charles was silent. After a moment, Erik said with quiet anger, “If only we could kill him and be done with it.”

“You would do that?” Charles asked, eyes widening slightly. Erik couldn’t tell if he was appalled or merely surprised.

“I served in the army for ten years,” Erik said. “I’ve killed men for less.”

Charles closed his eyes briefly, and Erik thought he might actually be considering the idea, as horrific and terrible a solution it might be. But then he sighed and ran his fingers through Erik’s hair again. “No, darling, I wouldn’t ask that of you. Besides, Marko isn’t a fool—he has his own allies, and though they’re less powerful than you, they still have some clout. No doubt he’s left instructions with them in case he’s harmed. His son Cain must know at least.”

“It would be their word against mine, and I am a lord.”

“Yes, but…” Charles’s mouth pinched. “There’s someone else who knows, too. Someone whose influence is equal to your own.”

It took Erik a moment to grasp his meaning. “Stryker.” He felt stupid for not realizing it earlier. Of course Stryker knew—Marko had made the same offer to him, though Erik had been quicker in taking it. 

“I don’t think he’d speak against you, but if Marko offered him enough of a reward…I don’t know. But the possibility is there. So even if Marko were to…to disappear,” Charles said, “I doubt the threat would go with him.”  

“Pity,” Erik muttered.

That faint smile touched Charles’s lips again and then slid away. He looked at Erik without seeing him for a long minute. Then he said, “Even if we did give him what he wanted, he wouldn’t hesitate to threaten us again if he thought he could gain something from it. We wouldn’t be safe from him.”

Killing Marko sounded like a better idea by the second. Before Erik could comment though, Charles said, “You ought to disown me.”

Erik was so shocked he couldn’t speak. Into the silence, Charles continued, “If we expose the secret before Marko does, he’ll lose his power over us. And if you condemn me, then your reputation will remain intact.”

“I would—” Erik struggled for words. “I would _never_.”

Charles kept going as if he hadn’t heard. “You must say you didn’t know I was pregnant before you agreed to marry me. Marko will dispute that, of course, but again, it’ll be your word against his and his won’t carry nearly as much weight. As for Stryker—well, we can’t control what he might say. He can’t have much to gain by antagonizing you though. He’s already disliked by a good number of the court. He can’t afford to have you as an enemy, too. Though if he’s sore about…” He grimaced. “…about losing me, there’s no telling what he might say. But I truly don’t think he’ll dispute it if you claim to not have known I was with child when I came here, not if you get ahead of Marko.”

Now, at last, Erik found the energy to stand, aghast. “You really mean that.”

“Yes.”

“You want me to disown you.”

Charles’s gaze was steady in the face of Erik’s horror. “Yes. That way you’ll survive with your honor intact. You’ll lose the connections my family name brings but—” He let out a short, bitter laugh. “I doubt the name will be worth much anymore after the truth gets out. Still, I’ll be the administrator of my own estate, my own lands. I’ll be able to keep Westchester out of Marko’s hands.” His brow knitted, and for the first time, he looked unsure of himself. “Oh god, I hadn’t thought of the child. What will it do, with a disgraced father? This world isn’t kind to bastards.”

This was too much. It was all too much. Suddenly Erik couldn’t stand to be here anymore, in the room where Marko had so quickly ripped away their hard-won happiness, in the room where Charles was now so calmly discussing their separation and his own ruination.

He turned on his heel and strode out. Though he heard Charles call his name, he did not turn back.  


	10. Chapter 10

Charles watched Erik go with a strange feeling of detachment. Shock had numbed him—or was it terror? Or grief? His hands were shaking, but oddly, he felt as if he were looking down at someone else’s hands, from a distance, like observing a storm from behind the warm safety of a window. Everything seemed very far away.

He didn’t know how long he sat there, staring unseeingly at the desk, but eventually there came a knock at the door. Blinking, Charles looked up and found Hank hovering in the doorway, obviously unsure of his welcome. Why was he here? Had Erik sent him?

“I’m fine,” Charles said, very steadily. It didn’t feel like a lie, not if he didn’t think about it. He _would_ be fine. Hadn’t he survived worse than this? Hadn’t he gone through heartbreak once already?

_But it wasn’t like this,_ a voice whispered in his head. _He didn’t love you back. You didn’t have a future with him. But you did with Erik_.

“Charles,” Hank said gently. “Lord Lehnsherr told me…I’m sorry about your mother.”

“My mother,” Charles said uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then he remembered, and had to wonder if he was a terrible son for feeling the loss of his marriage more keenly than the loss of his own mother.

“I came to see how you were doing,” Hank said, venturing further into the study.

“I’m fine,” Charles repeated. “I know stress isn’t good for the child, but I think—I’ve been keeping calm.”

“Good.” After a brief hesitation, Hank came over and sat in the chair beside him. “Lord Lehnsherr said you seemed to be in shock. He wanted me to come see if you wanted anything. Tea, perhaps. Or I can brew a tonic to calm the nerves.” 

“He couldn’t come ask me himself?” Charles asked. He was surprised by the sudden bitter edge in his voice. Was he angry at Erik? Evidently so. 

“He went to speak with Lord Marko,” Hank said haltingly, clearly wary of upsetting Charles further. “He told me to tell you he’ll be back to see you soon.”

He went to speak with Lord Marko? Was he already putting into motion what Charles had suggested? The world tilted strangely. Charles put a hand on the desk to steady himself.

“Charles?” Hank said anxiously.

“I’d like to go back to my rooms,” Charles said.

“Of course.”

Hank hurried to help him, taking his elbow. Normally Charles would have brushed him off gently; he wasn’t an invalid after all, even heavily pregnant as he was. But he _did_ feel slightly unsteady on his feet, and he couldn’t deny that having Hank’s support provided a small comfort.

Together they made their way back to the quarters Charles shared with Erik. At Charles’s insistence, Hank left him at the door, though he promised to return later with a tea that would soothe the nerves and help Charles relax. Charles thanked him, promised to rest, and gently closed the door between them.    

Suddenly very glad to be alone, he went over to the chaise lounge in the sitting room and sank down onto it. Exhaustion settled over him like a dead weight around his shoulders. Feeling awkward and unwieldy, he stretched out on the lounge, one hand pressed against his stomach as he closed his eyes.

How could their lives have changed so drastically in only a couple of hours? How was it that Marko had destroyed everything so easily? Was their love built on so fragile a foundation?

_It was built on a lie,_ Charles thought. _Did it ever stand a chance?_

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, consumed by his own thoughts, but eventually, he heard the door open. He could tell it was Erik by the quiet, confident footsteps on the wood flooring—no servant would have come in without announcing themselves, and Hank would have called out a greeting first.

Charles kept his eyes shut, unsure if he wanted to speak with Erik at the moment—unsure if he wanted to hear what had come out of Erik’s meeting with Marko. After a moment, he felt the cushion beside his head dip slightly as Erik sat down, and then Erik’s fingers began to stroke his hair gently.

Charles couldn’t help it; he opened his eyes and looked up. Erik gazed back down at him wearily, but there was no anger in his expression, no annoyance. Still, Charles remembered the look on his face when he’d backed away from Charles in the study and stormed out.

“Are you upset with me for what I said?” Charles asked softly.

“No.” Erik exhaled. “Yes. Perhaps.” He brushed Charles’s hair back from his eyes. “Are you upset with me for running out like I did?”

“No.” Charles paused. “Yes. But I understand. It must have been a shock.”

“To hear my husband speaking about divorce in such calm terms? To hear him arrange for his own abandonment with hardly any emotion at all? Yes, it was something of a shock.”

Charles winced. He reached up and took Erik’s hand, brought it down to kiss his knuckles. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to distress you. But you must see that—”

“That you were being hasty,” Erik said firmly. “You weren’t thinking straight; neither of us were. We shouldn’t make decisions out of fear.” When Charles opened his mouth to speak, Erik pressed his index finger against his lips. “I’ve spoken with Marko. He’ll give us three days to make arrangements.”

“Arrangements?”

“I told him it would take time for the lawyers to draw up papers to sign Westchester over to him. Even if you were to renounce your claim on the estate, official documents must be drafted—”

Charles pushed himself up. Erik caught his elbow and helped him rise until he was sitting, sitting and staring at Erik in confusion and anger. “You didn’t…You told him I would renounce my claim on the estate?”

He felt dizzy with betrayal. That Erik would take this step, override his wishes, even if it was his right as Charles’s alpha—

“I said it to placate him,” Erik said grimly, “and to buy us time. That was all.”

Now Charles stared at him in disbelief and wonder. “You? I’ve never known you to say anything to placate anyone.”

Erik huffed, a flicker of amusement passing over his face. “Believe me, I would have been far happier strangling him to death. But you were right—killing him won’t solve this, though I dearly wish it would.” He searched Charles’s face for a moment, brow furrowed. “Did you really think I’d just hand your estate over to him?”

Shame washed over Charles. Why had he doubted Erik so quickly? Of course he wouldn’t have made the decision without Charles’s consent. He was a far better man than that, far better than Charles deserved.

“I shouldn’t have,” Charles murmured, chastened. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” He wrapped an arm around Charles’s shoulders, pulling him close. “We’ll find a way through this. Together, or not at all. Agreed?”

Charles sighed and drew himself closer, pressing his face into Erik’s shoulder. His scent there was strong and comforting, and Charles closed his eyes and breathed him in.

His mind was still foggy with fear and anger. He couldn’t think clearly, couldn’t see a way forward for both of them, together. But perhaps a good night’s sleep would calm him down, ease the despair that gripped his heart. In the morning, maybe he would see things with more clarity.

“Let’s go to bed,” he murmured.

Erik kissed his temple. “Alright.”  

  

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Cover Art for - This, and My Heart Beside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16383854) by [JackyJango](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyJango/pseuds/JackyJango)




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